


up a winding stair

by likeoatmeal



Series: learn by going [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeoatmeal/pseuds/likeoatmeal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He cannot stay under the mountain. (Post-BotFA!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	up a winding stair

He cannot stay under the mountain. Its gold has been bought with his brother’s blood; he will have none of it.

-

He sleeps by the ruined gates, in borrowed furs that have seen better winters. Balin keeps him company when he can be spared (Erebor is a kingdom reborn and in need of much order, and were Kíli a better dwarf, a stronger one, he would sit on her throne and rule her people but he can’t. Kíli cannot accept this as a birthright if it means Fíli’s right was to die, alone and afraid, while Kíli could do nothing more than watch). He brings news of Dáin’s doings, what needs to be done to restore Erebor to what it once was, hears talk of what it can be in new days to come.

Balin tells him of the tombs to be built, deep in the heart of the mountain, great tombs, worthy of a king and his kinsmen. “Stay,” Balin says, quiet and careful and wise, just as Kíli has always known him to be, “Until then.”

It is a long winter.

-

She comes once. Dwarves do not trust elves, not even those banished for trying to aid them in their quest, but she does not seek entrance into their secrets corridors, does not ask for gold or lost jewels or even a home.

She returns the rune stone he placed in her hand that faraway morning on the shore, warm from her palms and smooth as memory between his fingers.

(Fíli never played with his, kept his safe, tucked away, close to his heart as though it were enough to ensure he would keep his promise.)

“You asked me once if I would follow you.” She touches his jaw, her touch skittish, as though she is afraid to touch him, as though his dreams were not filled with starlight and a faraway music when they are not filled with blood and cold and heartache. “I will follow you now, wherever you choose to go, if you wish it.” She covers the stone with her hand, curls her fingers until their hands are clasped around it. “That is my promise.”

-

When the work is done—and it is a great work, the greatest craftwork in Erebor’s halls since before dragon’s fire reigned—they lay Fíli to rest at their uncle’s side. Erebor’s horns shake the mountain, spill across the open fields, ring in every home in Dale. A mourner’s cry carried on a somber wind that tells the sad tale of the mountain king. His sword he lays at Fíli’s feet so he might not go alone into the dark beneath the earth (a lifetime at Fíli’s heels, shadowing his every step, learning his every move and creating a perfect mimicry. Their mother would laugh when they were boys, at Kíli’s dogged determination to follow and Fíli’s frustrated pride. But Kíli cannot follow him here. Not now. Not yet.).

They fill their goblets and raise them to their memories and their deeds, unwatered wine that sits heavy in his belly but gives no warmth. Kíli cannot raise his voice in the chorus that sings out for the dead.

-

The night before Kíli goes Dwalin comes to him. He does not entreat him to stay as a few others have tried, but lays a bundle between them, bows his head towards it until Kíli takes it in hand. The oiled skin gives way to reveal the silver blade of an axe, sturdy and well-made. “I made it,” Dwalin admits, words measured, “It’s had no other bearer. I trust you’ll put it to good use.” There are words engraved in the metal, a blessing. A hope for new beginnings.

-

He leaves the mountain behind him before the sun has raised its head above the horizon. He picks his way across the field slower than he would like, his leg never quite what it was before the orc-arrow pierced his flesh and poisoned his blood.

She is waiting for him on the hillside. Her long bow has been replaced, but she wears the garb of Bard’s people beneath her cloak now.

He is not the only one looking for something beyond the Lonely Mountain.

-

They make their make way west. The sun rises on their backs.

**Author's Note:**

> I need there to be a hundred, a thousand, a million stories where Fili and Kili don't die terrible deaths. I was originally working on a different Kili and Tauriel go exploring story but watching BotFA squashed it and it morphed into this. I would actually really like to add to this story and get to the actual exploring parts. The title is, once again, from the The Waking by Theodore Roethke. Thanks for reading!


End file.
